


Waking Up In Vegas

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Glitter, Prompt Fill, SRS 2012, so much glitter, there is no more champagne anywhere within Vegas city limits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://srs2012.dreamwidth.org/3911.html?thread=36679#cmt36679">Prompt at SRS 2012</a>:<i>They've got hangovers, glitter galore, and can't find their clothes anywhere in the fancy hotel room they woke up in. And just to top it off, there's a shimmering gold ring on Jo's finger that definitely wasn't there yesterday.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Waking Up In Vegas

_This is the worst bed in the world,_ Jo thinks to herself. It’s hard, and small, and cold, and something is digging into the back of her knee.

She shifts, and there is a clunk underneath her.

It’s the sound of a bottle rolling over porcelain.

She is in the bathtub, and that sound was the sound of a champagne bottle falling over, spilling out its lukewarm contents to cover the bottom of the tub. The smell alone makes her stomach roll, and she swallows hard against the bitter taste that fills her mouth.

Jo groans and opens her eyes. The lights in the bathroom are off and the door is open. Everything is brass and mirrors, tacky Vegas flash that they had laughed themselves sick over the night before.

She fumbles between her legs and manages to grab the neck of the bottle, dropping it over the side of the tub with a clatter. She grits her teeth at the sharp noise, then struggles to her knees. She tugs ineffectually at the shower curtain before giving up. It’s not like she has a lot of modesty left anyway.

The shower spray hits her like a thousand tiny needles, and she moans unashamedly as the warm water rolls down her back and soaks into her hair. She tries to stand, but decides that showering on her knees is also a perfectly viable option.

She watches the water swirl down the drain for a while before straightening in search of shampoo and soap. In the dim light of the bathroom her skin looks like it’s covered in tiny, dark flecks, but on closer inspection she realizes it’s glitter, now stuck to her skin by the water.

She finds soap and a washcloth and scrubs, watching as the water fills with bubbles that are, in turn, filled with clumps of glitter. She has hazy, vodka-soaked memories of standing on stage at a club dancing, and maybe a glitter canon. _Is that even a thing?_

That’s when she remembers who was keeping her company all night.

Balthazar had proposed an “Apocalypse Averted” world tour of debauchery and Jo had been first in line, desperate to see the world she’d nearly lost her life saving. Balthazar had been more than happy to spirit her away to parts unknown, and this had been her first request.

She turns off the water and stands, very slowly, squeezing her eyes shut against the spinning room around her. She tumbles gracelessly out of the bathtub and grabs a towel. There’s still glitter stuck to her skin, and - with the sort of apathy that can only be provided by a hangover - she accepts that she will probably be sparkling for days to come.

As she’s drying off her arm, a different sort of sparkle catches her eye. There’s a diamond ring on her left ring finger. It’s a gaudy thing, princess cut and big enough to put her through college, if it’s real. She only just catches herself before she tries to bite it.

She sits down hard on the lid of the toilet and pushes her wet hair back out of her eyes. It’s a little too big, and not really her taste, but there it is in all its Vegas glory, perched on her trembling hand.

She looks over at her reflection. “Jo Beth Harvelle, what did you do?” She can hear her mother’s voice over her own.

The girl in the mirror has no idea either. Part of Jo wants to close the bathroom door and stay in there for the rest of forever, but she knows she can’t. If nothing else, Balthazar is her ride home.

She stands shakily and tightens the white, fluffy towel around her body before poking her head out into the room.

They’d gotten a suite because _why the hell not?_ so for the moment she is spared coming face to face with the angel. All she can see now is the path of destruction they left through the room. What was perhaps once a lovely path of rose petals is now a line of shriveled, brown bits of foliage that wind their way towards the closed bedroom door. The room service cart is overturned, broken plates still piled with desserts lying next to it.

Jo steps closer to confirm, and yes, _it’s definitely a handprint in the cheesecake_. She looks down at her own hand, comparing the size, and a not-unpleasant shiver runs through her as she remembers licking whipped cream from between Balthazar’s fingers.

Her dress is draped over the back of the sofa. She picks it up gingerly and sighs when she sees the ripped shoulder strap and the generally ruined state of it. It had been waiting in the room when they arrived, and while she hopes it wasn’t expensive, she’s pretty sure it was. It’s also damp, and smells like chlorine. She abandons it and continues making her way across the suite.

As she picks her way over dropped champagne flutes, shoes (hers and his), a jacket (his), and everything else that’s strewn across the floor, she tries to catalogue what she can remember.

Dinner had been lovely. The hotel had a very elegant restaurant, and she had let him order for her since she had no idea what most of the things on the menu were. He’d fed her lobster with his fingers, and she’d tried real, _from France_ champagne for the first time.

They’d seen a magic show, and she’d laughed as Balthazar explained how all the tricks were done. They got thrown out when he started doing it loud enough for other people to hear.

After the obligatory tour around the casino (Balthazar put on his accent extra thick and ordered a martini, shaken not stirred. Jo rolled her eyes, but she stood by his shoulder for more than an hour while he cleaned up at the baccarat table), they’d headed out in search of something wilder, still dressed to the nines.

That’s where the night starts to turn patchy. There were drinks, including, she’s pretty sure, a tequila shooter body shot from a stripper’s navel.

If she were to remove the towel she’s certain she’d see bruises where she fell trying to use the stripper pole.

After that, there had been dancing. Lots of dancing, most of it dirty, and all of it with Balthazar. She covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle when she recalls someone pointing out how much older than her he was, and wasn’t she better off with someone younger. _You have no idea_ , he had drawled at the encroacher before dipping down and sucking a hickey onto the side of her neck.

The one thing she doesn’t remember is getting married, but the evidence is there on her finger, and now that she looks, it’s all over the room, too. A wedding cake topper, bits of cake still clinging to the bottom, lies abandoned on a glass side table. A small bouquet of roses stands in a crystal vase.

Jo spots her handbag stuffed into a corner of the sofa and she sinks down next to it. She dumps the contents out into her lap and swears under her breath when she is covered anew in glitter. There’s precious little cash among the trash and receipts, but there are a couple of markers that she thinks she can change in. She pushes most of it aside in search of painkillers, popping two pills out of the silver-backed blister pack and swallowing them with a grimace. As she’s tearing off two more for Balthazar, her eyes fall on a paper that isn’t a receipt.

It’s a gift certificate for dinner for two at one of the high-end restaurants, made out to “Mr. & Mrs. D’angelo”.

Her mother is going to kill her.

She stands and moves to the double doors that lead into the bedroom. Her hand rests on the door handle for a moment while she gathers her courage, then she pushes the doors open.

Balthazar is still asleep, lying spread-eagle on the huge bed. Had this been Hollywood there would have been a strategically draped sheet, but this is Vegas so he is stark naked and snoring lightly.

There are more champagne bottles on the floor, and Balthazar’s hand is wrapped loosely around the neck of one where it hangs off the edge of the bed. There is a fresh tattoo under his navel that says “No Angel” in ornate, swirling script. His chest and arms are covered with scratches, and there are deep purple bite marks on his collarbone and around one of his nipples. The lipstick around the bite marks, and smeared along the side of his face, is Jo’s favorite shade.

She moves carefully around the edge of the bed to where their suitcases stand open. She looks back over her shoulder, then drops the towel and quickly pulls on a t-shirt and underwear. She straightens and stands on tiptoe, but from this side of the bed she can’t see if Balthazar is also wearing a ring.

There is a bottle of expensive vodka and a collection of shot glasses on the nightstand. The edges of the glasses are marked with several different shades of lipstick, and for a moment she panics, trying to remember Nevada marriage laws, before she remembers that the gift certificate had said Mr. and Mrs.

She stumbles on the pile of clothes at the edge of the bed and sends an empty bottle rolling over the plush carpet. It hits another one with a clink that’s loud in the quiet room, and Balthazar stirs.

“To think I scoffed when you suggested Vegas,” he mumbles thickly, slinging an arm up over his eyes.

“Not so pedestrian now, is it?” Jo replies, sitting down next to him. She tosses a corner of the blanket over his hips, and tucks one leg up under her.

Balthazar lifts his arm and looks at her blearily out of one eye. “You wear the morning after well.”

“Waking up in the bathtub made it easier to shower,” she admits dryly.

He laughs until the sound dissolves into a sigh, then rolls over and props himself up on an elbow. There is glitter in his hair, and Jo reaches out, ruffling it and releasing a sparkling cloud into the air around his head.

“Thank you for that,” he deadpans, rubbing a hand over his face. She holds out the blister pack with pills and he plucks them from between her fingers. “Oh. And a _genuine_ thank you for that.”

“Do angels need that kind of stuff?” She asks.

“It would seem that way,” he answers, tossing two pills to the back of his throat.

“So, umm,” she starts, playing with the ring. “I know we had a good time last night-”

“When one is with me, a good time is the bare minimum, my dear.” Balthazar pushes himself up into a sit and gives her a self-satisfied grin that quickly turns into a grimace as his body adjusts to the new position.

Jo steels herself, squaring her shoulders and putting on her best serious adult expression.

“Right, but, there’s some stuff that’s kind of fuzzy, and I mean, you’re a great guy, but.” She pulls the ring off and holds it out to him.

He looks down at the ring with furrowed brows. “What? It’s yours. Keep it.”

She purses her lips, but pulls her hand back, letting it fall into her lap. “I can’t be married to you.”

Balthazar’s mouth falls open, and for a second he looks genuinely shocked. Then his lips curl into a smile and he laughs again, but this time it’s a richer sound. “Is that what you think happened?”

Now it’s Jo’s turn for shock. “Well, yeah. I mean, the ring, and there’s a thing in my bag that says we’re married.” His laughter gets even louder, and she pouts, heaving an annoyed sigh. “There is a cake topper on the table out there!”

“Because we crashed a wedding and stole it!” He exclaims breathlessly. “My head. Please don’t make me laugh again, darling.” He can see that it’s still not registering for her, so he leans over and picks up the shot glasses on the table. “Bridesmaids, the lot of them. Matching dresses and everything.”

“And the gift certificate?” She continues, pointing back towards the other room.

“You lied to the concierge! I’ve never seen such an effective con job. All I had to do was smile and nod. You wanted to get out of paying for dinner.”

Relief floods through Jo, every part of her feeling lighter at the confirmation that she’s still single. “And this?” She asks, holding up the ring.

Balthazar smiles warmly at her and leans forward, cupping her cheek. “You saw it in a pawn shop window and couldn’t stop talking about it, so I went back and traded for it.”

“Traded?”

He shrugs and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Angelic arms dealer. You think I don’t have anything worth swapping for a diamond ring?”

He stands, wobbles a bit, and moves past her towards the main room. She slips the ring onto her right ring finger instead and follows after him, grabbing his arm and turning him so that they’re facing each other.

“That,” she begins, laughing a little when she feels her face heat up. “That’s my lipstick, isn’t it?” He nods. “Did we...?” She gestures between them, not wanting to finish the sentence out loud.

“Vigorously, yes. Several times, too.” He gives her a cheeky grin but it fails to be reassuring.

“Oh,” she breathes out, her face falling.

Jo starts to back away, but Balthazar wraps his hands around her upper arms and looks down into her worried eyes. “Given the choice between waging war against the Host of Heaven, or returning you to your mother in anything less than perfect condition, I would choose the Host. While I assure you that you were quite enthusiastic last night, I don’t want you worrying about doing something you think you’d regret.”

He bends down and kisses her cheek. It seems an out of place, intimate gesture when they’re standing in the ruins of the night before, and Jo is moved by it. She brings her hand up and touches the spot lightly when Balthazar pulls away.

“You, Joanna, are an excellent partner in crime and I look forward to touring the world with you, but I would never, _never_ want you thinking I'd taken advantage of you. You are a lady, and I am a gentleman. I simply couldn’t.”

His eyes shine with sincerity, and Jo nods, smiling tentatively.

“No,” she says quietly. “I’m just sorry I don’t remember, I guess.”

“Well,” he says brightly, “we can take care of that today, if you like. Just let me shower and we can pick up where we left off.” He gives her a rakish grin, then turns away and heads out into the main room. “Just not here,” he calls back over his shoulder. “Someone’s trashed the place. Scoundrels. Decide where you want to eat breakfast and I’ll be right back.”

He starts humming the chorus of one of the songs they’d danced to the night before, and Jo watches him walk away until he disappears into the bathroom. She steps back and flops down onto the bed, lifting her hand to look at the ring again.

She’s always wanted to go to Paris.


End file.
